


Weightless

by BranwellBronte



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, i can't tag, there's some good sex I hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BranwellBronte/pseuds/BranwellBronte
Summary: She gently curled her fingers around his shoulders. “You need a distraction.”“You understand.”“I do.”He let himself fall with the relief.





	Weightless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TerribleAndRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleAndRed/gifts).



She had always taken _his_ arm, been the one to guide him to walk with her atop the battlements, feathered snowflakes catching in their hair. The flakes in his curls stayed put; the ones that touched her shimmering tresses disappeared as soon as they landed. He’d been watching her once as the wind swirled flakes around them. He almost would have said that he heard a noise as the flakes briefly touched and disappeared from her hair. Something he could hear over the wind.

            A crack.

            And a sizzle.

            And then his arm tucked in hers felt ever so slightly warmer.

            And now he realized he’d like to take _her_ arm for once. And that the tension he felt had finally grown so taught as to reach the breaking point.

            And if it broke, he knew there would be singing in his blood.

***

            Stannis was complaining through gritted teeth.

            Jon was tired. He had perfected a special technique of only half-listening to Stannis Baratheon’s dinner complaints by discerning the topic of the complaint and then ignoring his actual talk. The wildling prisoners. That pretender boy-king on the Iron Throne, born of the filth of his immoral mother and her brother. Food rations. Mance Rayder. Unmanned castles along the Wall. Houses that had refused to pledge to him. Wildlings.

            “It is not acceptable,” he said over his wine goblet, narrowed eyes fixed on Jon’s.

            “His Grace is correct,” Davos jumped in.

            “My actions are all born of careful thought,” replied Jon.

            Melisandre said nothing. Jon glanced at her quickly as he put his goblet down. She was sitting still, with her food untouched, hands folded in her lap. Her hair draped gracefully around her shoulders, the candlelight throwing shimmers on it. Her eyes were downcast but the corners of her red lips were raised ever so slightly in what had to be called a smile. Or was her mouth any different than usual? No, it was different. That faint smile was there.             

Then the candlelight shifted and Jon wasn’t sure he saw it after all. It was impossible to tell without gazing at the Red Priestess longer, which he didn’t intend to do. Maybe if she would look at him, he could have done it.

But she hadn’t looked at him all evening. After descending the battlements earlier, she’d gently released his arm and turned her gaze on Ghost. The direwolf, who had been following behind Jon, had sat down and regarded the red woman with a startling degree of calmness in his eye. Jon had watched him carefully for a moment, then had turned back to find Melisandre’s eyes on him.

“Lord Snow,” she’d said in that low, melodious voice, and then she was gliding away from him across the yard and into the castle.

What expression had her eyes held? Had she smiled at him? Jon couldn’t remember and it nagged at his tired mind.

And it made him want to look at her even more.

As Stannis took a long drink from his goblet, Jon resolutely finished the food on his plate and put his napkin on the dish. “A good night to you, my Lord.” He nodded at Stannis. “Ser Davos.” Another nod. “My Lady.” A lingering glance.

She briefly closed her eyes and opened them, but he couldn’t tell if the motion was in response to his words. She seemed to have that tiny smile about her mouth. But he couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t watch her any longer or he’d make the moment too strange.

On his way to his room, he went by Sam and Gilly passing the other way. Sam was holding the baby above him with both hands and Gilly was giggling and holding onto Sam’s arm. How few hours it had been since Melisandre had held Jon’s arm like that, and yet it seemed days ago. Why did it seem so long? Because she’d not looked at him during dinner? Jon turned to watch Sam and Gilly pass down the hall, Sam lowering the baby and handing him into his mother’s arms. They disappeared around the corner and Jon turned back to continue the walk to his room.

The red woman was in his path, not ten feet away. In the torchlight she glowed crimson.

Jon halted in what he hoped wasn’t too abrupt a manner as he felt his breath skip. Melisandre’s chambers lay some way behind Jon’s. How had she gained more distance across the hall than him if he’d been the first to leave the table?

If it were any other night, he’d have dismissed the question and put it down to his lack of understanding of the woman. He’d have repeated, “My Lady,” and bowed aside to let her pass. He’d have put the matter out of his mind by the time he laid down to sleep.

But it was tonight. And he was tired. So tired.

“Is there a reason you do it?” he asked, and his voice came out slightly cracked. “A reason you seem determined to confuse me?”

The glow of the light illuminated her dress but not her face. Jon took a step forward before he could help himself, but she didn’t move. When she spoke, her voice sounded warmer than the fire.

“I know not of any motive I should have to confuse you.” She didn’t add, “Lord Snow,” which further pushed Jon’s mind off-kilter. Something was happening tonight. Something was changing between them.

 “I am tired,” Jon said bluntly.

“Then rest.”

“I don’t know how, when you do this to me.” He took another step forward but her face only seemed to recede into the shadow. And she hadn’t moved an inch.

He sighed raggedly as he stepped back. “I don’t play games. Not anymore. I won’t do this.” He gestured down the hall. “Please. Pass me by.”

“Very well.” When she emerged from the shadow and her face was finally visible, it seemed expressionless. Jon couldn’t read it. Melisandre’s hands were folded demurely in front of her as she moved forward. _Walk_ didn’t seem the right word for how she was moving. She was too spectral, too far removed from this plane to merely walk. She might as well have been floating. The only proof of her feet moving lay in the gentle _swish_ of her dress on the stones as she closed the gap between them.

He was falling, and he was letting himself fall. Before she could move a step ahead of him, he caught her elbow.

She didn’t move her arm from his grip as she turned to face him. “I need not tell you your own mind.” This time, her eyes moved swiftly to his own. A flare went up in their red irises. “It is your own.”

Jon didn’t loosen his fingers on her. “Then why do you toy with it?”

“I do not toy with it. I have no such purpose in this life. I serve the Lord of Light. That is my task. If I confuse you, Jon Snow, it is by no fault of mine. Look to your own mind for your answers. Shall I leave you now?”

“Will you tell me if you were smiling at me earlier?”

“And would that clarify your mind in some way?”

“You know it would.”

“I do not.”

“I am tired of this banter.”

“Then stop, and I will go.”

“Your chambers lie behind you.”

“You do not know where I was headed. But you will ask.”

“I won’t. I’m too tired.”

“Then I shall leave you to wonder.”

“Then leave.” He let go of her elbow.

“Wonder now, Jon Snow.” The light flickered across her eyes and she turned away, the folds of her dress swishing.

“I-” _I won’t wonder_ , he wanted to say. But he would. He’d told her she confused him and toyed with him. A man confused and toyed with would naturally wonder where the accused woman went when she left him. He’d said he was done playing games, but he’d engaged her in one, and he’d lost.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Melisandre turned back to him. But there was no hint of mischief in them, no sense of gloating that she had won. She spoke softly. “You would not have this any other way, Jon Snow. You enjoy it too much. There are some obsessions that seem like a curse, yet when briefly put from the mind, they are sorely missed. I am that obsession for you. I do not doubt you are a tired man, Lord Commander. But you are not tired of me. If I did not occupy your mind so well, it would not bother you if you could not tell if I were smiling at you. I might take your arm, but you let yourself be led. You could pass me by, but you stop me and insist on conversation. It matters not where I am bound. Yet you will wonder. You enjoy having me as an obsession.”

Jon felt a sting of pain in his burned hand and realized he’d been digging his nails into it. He winced as he uncurled his fingers and looked at the little half-moon indents on his palm. He didn’t need to look up again to feel her move closer. He anticipated the twitch of the shock when she touched his bare hand, but it didn’t make him feel less like he was the spark made from flint striking steel. It was a glorious feeling that spread warmth through him head to toe. It was a feeling made to revel in. It was a feeling to rejoice in.

He was so tired.

And she was the sharp, beautiful glare that kept his eyes open.

“Why do I enjoy it,” he whispered. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her tell him.

“Because it distracts you,” she said with a note of tenderness in her voice as she turned his hand with the palm facing upwards. “Your hands are tired.” She let go of his hand and laid both of hers on his shoulders. “And so are these. You hold the entire world up with them. So many people depend on you. You need to take care of them all. If you do not, the consequences will be dire. You’re so tired. The weight of the world.” She gently curled her fingers around his shoulders. “You need a distraction.”

“You understand.”

“I do.”

He let himself fall with the relief.

She put a hand behind his head before the back of it hit the wall. She cradled his neck as he slid down into a crouch, then all the way to his knees. As she settled onto her own knees in front of him, he took her other hand, felt the glorious shock of the spark, and brought it to his lips. He held it there and bowed his head over her lap as she gently stroked his neck. Her hair curtained around his face and brushed his cheeks. He brought her knuckles to his forehead and gladly let his breathing slip into unevenness as she traced one finger up and down his spine. The aching started, and her hand was tight in his all the way to his bedroom.

***

            Her elaborate dress was surprisingly easy to pull down around her shoulders but he couldn’t wait long enough to slip it off her before he’d hiked the skirt of it up and gripped her thigh. She’d only taken his shirt off before she made a soft humming noise and leaned her face into the place where his shoulder met his neck. He marveled at how easily she melted against him, this woman who only moved straight-backed and with poise. Yet she seemed to know exactly what he wanted, needed, in this moment.

He was half sprawled back on the bed and she was kneeling neatly over him, bending to press her lips to his skin as his fingertips ran over the smoothness of her inner thigh. He used his other hand to bring her chin up to his mouth and each kiss was like a crash, the impact hitting him in the chest and the broken pieces of the feeling making all his skin tingle. Her lips fit so neatly against his and he could no longer tell if she was warmer than him or if they were sharing the warmth between them. The higher he went up her thigh, the higher the pitch of her breathing rose. He grappled along her shoulders, grabbing fabric and yanking it down until it fell to her waist and he could take one of her nipples into his mouth. She inhaled with a laugh and the sound rang musical as he pulled her down onto her side. She gasped anew every time he licked a circle or gently sucked, and then she was only gasping as he threw the folds of her dress aside and found the spot between her legs that would give her the most pleasure. He stroked the pad of his thumb down it and she clutched his back with one hand and twisted the other through his hair as she cried openmouthed with joy. He licked around her nipple and then tongued the tip as he stroked her slightly faster every few seconds. The stone of one of her rings dug into his back but the jolt of pain was lost in his reverie of hearing the high tone in her breathing rise even higher. He moved up and found her mouth again and kissed it desperately a moment before he moved his thumb with more pressure and speed. She half moaned, half sang against his lips as she came.

            Although she’d been the one to receive pleasure, he felt somehow sated and fulfilled, like he’d completed a holy mission and reaped the reward. Her face was tucked into his neck now and as her breathing evened out, she still occasionally laughed. She’d released so much pent-up tension in him by simply letting him touch her, ravish her. He was still aching but he’d have let it subside and happily fallen asleep with her, but she was already kneeling up and pulling her dress over her head. Then she ran both sets of her fingertips down her bare chest and didn’t stop at the top of his pants but continued down his length. He groaned and reached for her but she nimbly rolled his pants down his legs and then straddled him, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips. His heart kicked in anticipation as she ran her hand up and down him several times, teasing him. And he wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

            She held his eyes the entire time she moved her body over him, and then down on him. Her eyes fluttered briefly, and then she was watching him, watching his reactions. She was slick and warm inside and he shuddered in pleasure. He was the one inside her and yet he felt gloriously taken in by her, privileged to be surrounded by her aura that seemed only more confident the more abandoned in joy she was. Her eyes told him that she knew he was in awe, but her small smile was gentle. It widened as he put his hands around her hips and she lifted herself up and down on him for the first time. Soon she was wildly riding him, her hair moving back and forth over her shoulders, and he was bucking into her and his world narrowed to the thought of how beautiful she looked in rapture. She still opened her red eyes and met his, and he felt further undone every moment she gazed into him. She took his hands away from her hips and laid them over her breasts. He held them through all of her ecstatic movements, the feel of them in his hands pushing him closer to his own edge. She rolled her hips faster than he knew was possible, then arched her back and keened out that lovely song. The sound made him throb and he came arching his own back, their movements synchronized for one transcendent moment.

            Still keeping him inside her, she let her upper body fall over his chest in one graceful movement, her hair tumbling over him. As his breath still heaved, he took a lock of it and twined it around his fingers, then let it go and combed both hands through her hair. She sighed in contentment and he let the moment stretch, brushing her hair with his fingers. He felt that they could float into the air if only she decided they should.

***

            He hadn’t realized he’d drifted off to sleep until he opened his eyes and she was dressed again, sitting calmly on the edge of the bed. He knuckled an eye and sat up. She swooped over and took his face in her hands and they kissed for a few delicious moments. Her tongue was soft and quick as she chased his. Then she broke the kiss and stroked his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head, tracing a finger around his lips. He took her hand and kissed the palm. She gave him one more smile, and then the door was soundlessly opened and closed and she was gone.

***

            “I disagree,” said Stannis.

            “You have every right to do so, but my decision is firm. I am Lord Commander.”

            Stannis ground his teeth, stood up, and placed his goblet down so quickly that it wobbled. “I trust we’ll discuss this more in the morning.”

            “I trust we will.” Jon put his wine down gently.

            Davos stood beside Stannis and nodded his head to Jon. Jon nodded back, then watched as Stannis looked back at the table. Melisandre, without looking at anyone, rose fluidly from her chair and turned to follow. As she glided away, she caught Jon’s eye, moved her gaze to each of his shoulders, and raised an eyebrow.

            Jon didn’t risk a smile in case Stannis should be watching, but he inclined his head ever so slightly. Melisandre raised her chin and her red eyes shone a flame for a moment. Then her dress swished softly behind her and her hair swung slightly from side to side as she passed after Stannis and Davos.

            Jon put his napkin on his plate and leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall all the way back. He replayed their wordless conversation in his mind.

            _The weight of the world tonight, Jon Snow?_

_I can bear it._

He remembered their bodies moving together and he felt weightless.


End file.
